A Keen Observer
by Warmwoollenmittens
Summary: When day number seven passes with no music, no play, no laughter, Frau Schmidt is forced to conclude that things just aren't the same without the boisterous young postulant from Nonnberg Abbey. The housekeeper has her own questions about the girl's sudden departure, and a shocking discovery in the late hours of the night all but confirms the answers.


**A/N: this is a one shot I just had to get down on paper because it wouldn't leave my head. It is inspired partly by a sentence of dialogue in the brilliant story _'Once Upon An Engagement'_ by RKF55, and partly by the recent discussions on the pro-boards about Frau Schmidt and her potential penchant for gossip. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**A Keen Observer**

Day number seven had come and gone without music, without play, without laughter — just like the six miserable days that had preceded it. The children and the captain's guests had gone to bed some hours ago, the staff had all retired for the night, and Franz had already locked the doors. Indeed it wasn't out of the ordinary for the house to be silent at this time in the evening, but the vast space seemed even _more_ eerily empty in Fraulein Maria's absence. To Frau Schmidt, who was only just finishing her final task of the day down in the grand entranceway, it felt as though history was somehow repeating itself.

She'd always liked Fraulein Maria, and the change she'd wrought in the captain and his children throughout the last few months had been undeniable, even to the most obtuse of observers. Perhaps _that_ had been the problem, she thought wryly. There were keen observers everywhere, people who would perhaps have deemed the relationship between employer and employee to be inappropriate at best and positively scandalous at worst.

And so Fraulein Maria had left. Or had she run away? The flapping tongues amongst the household staff had swayed towards the latter — because _the girl had danced in the master's arms on the terrace, don't you know_. But either way the conclusion was the same: the house was quiet. _Too_ quiet. And while Frau Schmidt liked to run a relatively tight ship — no doubt a result of years spent under the command of Austria's greatest naval hero — she nevertheless missed the sound of singing, the ring of laughter, the chaotic thundering of seven young feet headed up by the clumsy stomp of a spritely young governess.

The children's melancholy over her absence was contagious — so contagious, in fact, that it seemed to have seeped its poison into the captain as well. Of course, he was doing his level best to keep that stoic mask of his firmly in place, and to any other keen observer, he might've appeared perfectly content. But Frau Schmidt knew him better than that by now. She'd helped raise the man from a young boy for heaven's sake! Yes, he was frightfully stubborn, extremely proud and more than a little irritable at times — but he concealed profound emotion behind the harsh exterior, emotion that had nearly ruined him upon the death of the late baroness.

He might've been able to fool the keen observers that orbited around him, she thought knowingly, but he could not fool his longest serving and most dedicated member of staff. Deciding not to dwell on such notions for much longer however, she began to climb the stairs in order to retire, longing for the comfort of her bed after a busy day's work. It wasn't until she reached the final step though, that she remembered she _still_ hadn't gotten around to clearing out the governess' bedroom. It had been on her to-do list for the past three days, but she'd been putting the task off — mainly in the hope that Fraulein Maria might return.

It had become all too clear though, that the girl wasn't coming back. The things she'd left behind would need sending back to the abbey, the bedsheets needed stripping, the bathroom cleaning, the shutters dusting. Annoyed at herself for letting the task fall off her list, she pinched the bridge of her nose, pondering her options. The cleaning could wait until tomorrow, she decided, but she would go and fetch Fraulein Maria's remaining belongings now, so that they might serve as a reminder of the task ahead in the morning.

Moving on rapid feet, she made her way down the corridor and slipped quietly into the governess' room, but the sight that confronted her upon entry was enough to rob her of breath. She could hardly believe her eyes! There on the bed, cast in semi-darkness but illuminated by the silvered stripes of moonlight casting their way across the room, was the unmistakable form of Captain Georg Von Trapp. Almost on instinct, she made to apologise for her intrusion, but she needn't have worried herself, for her employer was sound asleep — or rather, he was _unconscious_, if the half-empty tumbler of cognac on the beside table next to him was anything to draw conclusions from.

Instantly, her stomach lurched in discomfort as her mind cast itself back to a particularly dark night five years previous, when she'd found him three sheets to the wind in his study, his eyes bleached black and red with sorrow. She'd tried to wrestle a bottle of liquor from his drunken grip, she recalled, but he'd thrown the offending item against the nearest wall in an impulsive fit of despair that still haunted her to this very day. By the next morning, it had been as though the incident had never happened, and while his desperate display of grief had been merely the start of far worse months and years to follow, she'd never again seen him relinquish control in such a manner.

But as she studied him now, curled on his side like a vulnerable young boy, with his shoes still on and his suit awry, she couldn't help but notice the disturbing parallels. He might not have been hysterical — or even _conscious_, for that matter — but there was nevertheless a troubled crease to his brow, a rigidity to his shoulders, a tension in his jaw that any keen observer might easily notice. How had he ended up in _this_ room of all places? she asked herself, shaking her head in silent incredulity — though it really didn't take a detective to work out what might've drawn him here.

The Fraulein's room had remained untouched and, within the confines of its cosy four walls, it was all too easy to imagine that she'd never actually left at all. Just as Frau Schmidt had noted, her things were still here; some clothes hanging in the armoire, a hairbrush on the vanity, a sock puppet she'd made for the children, laying sad and forgotten by the chest of drawers. The room still smelled of her too: the light scent of roses combined with a mountainous meadow's breeze. And it was surely no coincidence that the captain had succumbed to the oblivion of intoxication with his face buried in one of the pillows.

The man was lucky it was his housekeeper, and not Franz, or one of the silly young maids, that had discovered him in such a compromising position! It would not do his reputation any favours, nor would it quiet the gossip in the house if anyone else were to find him here, curled up atop the governess' bed in the late hours of the evening. Any temptation to back out of the room and pretend she hadn't seen anything died away in an instant. No, she couldn't leave him here to potentially be discovered by somebody else, she realised. She would have to wake him, and simply hope that he would forgive her the intrusion.

Cautiously, she moved closer to the bed, being careful not to startle him. It was only then that she spotted it through the darkness, something that made her breath hitch and her heart break all at once. There atop the bedcovers, clutched between the captain's fingers and held tight against his chest, was Fraulein Maria's blue chiffon dress. A scandalised hand flew to the housekeeper's mouth. So it was just as she'd suspected all along, she thought. The poor, _dear_ man. And the girl... how lost she must've felt! No wonder she had fled...

"Captain?" Frau Schmidt cooed softly, attempting to rouse him with a gentle shake of his shoulder. He stirred instantly, sucking in a long breath and instinctively pulling the dress even closer to him. His eyelids remained stubbornly closed however, scrunching into a confused frown, and she could've sworn she heard him mutter a name under his breath — though it couldn't possibly be what she thought. The very idea was... _unfathomable_.

"Sir?" She tried again, "It's Frau Schmidt."

"_Wharrayouwant_," he mumbled incoherently, pressing his face further into the pillow to shut out consciousness.

"Come on," she soothed like a mother hen, gently tucking her hands under his shoulders, attempting to lift him, "it's time to get up now."

"Noo," he whined like a child, his body a deadweight, and the display of inebriated petulance would've been comical if it weren't for the complete and utter dejection she could hear in his voice. She could tell already that he'd remember little of this in the morning, and it was probably for the best, she considered grimly. The captain she knew and held in the highest regard would be utterly _mortified_ if he knew that he'd been caught out in such a private and vulnerable moment.

"You have to, sir," she murmured reassuringly, attempting again to gently rouse him, "you can't stay here."

"_She_ couldn't stay either," he mumbled mournfully again as if to no one, sleep still stubbornly clinging to him, "didn't even say goodbye."

"I know," she soothed, as though comforting a son of her own. It didn't take much to understand who the mysterious '_she_' might be, "I know, sir."

"_Why_?" He bleated.

Frau Schmidt knew the answer of course — or, at least, she had her suspicions — but it was not her business to speak out of turn, least of all when any keen observer could see just how distressed her employer currently was.

"I'm not entirely sure, Captain."

"_I_ know why," he hissed, his fists tightening around the material of the dress that he still clutched to his body, "I _know_."

"_Shh_, it's alright," she cooed, before he could say anything he might later regret, "I'm here now," she curled her hands around his upper arms and attempted to coax him upward again, "come on. Let's get you up and about."

Apparently having little fight left in him, her employer released the blue chiffon with little protest and allowed himself to be hauled up into a sitting position, though he still groaned from the apparent effort of forcing his body into movement. Frau Schmidt wasn't fairing much better herself; he was heavy and lifeless, but he nevertheless managed to swing his legs clumsily over the side of the bed with her assistance and drape his arm around her steadying shoulders. Blinking blearily through the darkness, his bloodshot eyes finally began to focus upon his surroundings, and it was only then that he seemed to remember _exactly_ where he was.

"_Frau Schmidt_," he breathed in sudden recognition, his tone laced with shame and panic, "It's not wharrit looks like..."

"There's no need to explain, sir," she consoled him, busying herself with anchoring her free arm around his solid waist, "I'm just here to help."

"I only came to check," he slurred in that senseless way that inebriated people so often do, slumping against her, "but...I fell asleep—"

What exactly he'd come to 'check' he did not reveal to her, and neither did Frau Schmidt press him.

"Shhh," she soothed again, "Now, are you alright to stand?" she steadied herself against him, taking a sizeable portion of his weight, and then managed to heave them both to their feet with a laboured groan, "_there_ we are!" she encouraged lightly as they swayed a little from the effort.

And with that, she began to lead him towards the door, relieved to notice that he could just about support his own weight and merely needed her to help him with balance. If she'd thought his apparent embarrassment might've kept him silent throughout their clumsy journey out onto the landing however, she'd thought wrong.

"_One_ dance," the captain spat to no one but himself, "that's all. Just one. _Heaven forbid_..."

"Uh..._dance_, Captain?" Frau Schmidt enquired, though of course she knew all too well _exactly_ which dance he was referring to. The household staff had gossiped about little else.

"The Laendler," he hissed meaningfully, "what a _lovely couple you make_.."

"Ah yes. Well," Frau Schmidt replied primly, casting about for a safer topic of conversation, "the children certainly enjoyed it, anyhow!"

It was impossible to miss the way her employer's eyes blackened, "So did _I_."

There was a sickeningly long pause then, in which the silence seemed to hum with truths left unspoken, neither housekeep nor master willing to acknowledge the implication behind those three simple words.

"Where do you want to go, captain?" Frau Schmidt broke the heavy awkwardness, glancing one way towards the stairs, and then the other way towards the family wing, "To your study, or your suite?"

"_Nonnberg_," he slurred in reply, and then gave a bark of bitter laughter at his own absurdity.

"We can't go there now," Frau Schmidt explained as patiently as though she was talking to Gretl, opting to carry on down the corridor in the direction of his suite, since the stairs would be far too hard to tackle, "perhaps in the morning..."

"No!" he griped in clumsy anger, "not now, not _ever_! The nuns..." he gave a repugnant shiver, "not the _nuns_."

The housekeeper rolled her eyes. There would be no getting through to him tonight, she knew. And so she thought it best to say nothing at all. It did very little to stem the flow of her employer's drunken ramblings though.

"I am to be _married_ soon — did you know that, Frau Schmidt?"

"I did sir," she retorted, still dragging him down the hall with considerable effort, "You announced it to the staff today, in fact."

"And weddings are meant to be _happy_ occasions," he snorted sardonically, "all that lovely _money_ in the family," he waved his hand impatiently in the air and then, looking around the place in confusion, he added, "where's my cognac?"

"We left it in the governess' room, sir. I'll take it to the kitchens later."

It was a mistake of course, to mention the Fraulein, for the captain's face instantly fell again, the slight flush draining from his cheeks.

"The _governess_..." he echoed hollowly, almost as though he couldn't bring himself to say her real name aloud, lest it should make everything seem far too real. There was another long and steely pause then, while he was evidently lost to his own dark thoughts, before a question gradually formed behind his eyes.

"Do you think she... ?" But the words died on his lips almost as soon as he'd spoken them, and he shook his head adamantly, "_No_!" he censured himself with a curse, apparently no longer caring that his housekeeper was an observer to his outburst, "It should not matter. It_ does not_ matter!"

"Captain," Frau Schmidt insisted, relieved to discover that they'd somehow managed to reach the family wing, "everything is going to be alright. You just need to rest."

"Will the _children_ be alright?" he mumbled forlornly, his eyes still failing to focus, "they don't sing anymore..."

"They'll cheer up soon enough captain," she chirped reassuringly, "children always do. Now, come," she guided him towards the door to his suite, "by morning, you'll feel much better."

"Yes..." he muttered absently, allowing her to bustle him through the doorway like a sack of potatoes and lead him towards the refuge of his bed, "we're all going to be _very happy_."

"Precisely."

"Even if it's all _wrong_."

Again, Frau Schmidt thought it best not to answer and instead focused on the task of depositing him on the bed and urging him down onto the pillows. Immediately he closed his heavy eyelids, hardly noticing the way his housekeeper was tugging his boots off for him like a fussing mother. Dumping the shoes at the foot of the bed and deciding there was little else she could do for him, she stood in the centre of the room for a moment, studying his sleeping form with a mix of motherly affection and pity.

So much had changed in the past few months, she concluded, and yet the captain was as miserable as ever. Could it really be that he and the Fraulein had fallen in love, somehow? It seemed _impossible_, that a man of his station might long for the affections of a young postulant with nothing but a battered guitar and an old carpet bag to her name. But then again, it was clear to _any_ keen observer that something had perhaps blossomed between governess and employer during the course of the summer, something that went beyond the realms of mere friendship.

Eventually heaving a sigh, Frau Schmidt murmured a gentle goodnight through the darkness before heading for the door, but the captain called after her through the fogginess of sleep before she could make her escape.

"Brigitte?"

She turned back to find that his eyes were still firmly closed.

"Yes sir?"

"Thank you," he mumbled into the pillows, and then he was sound asleep, his breathing deep and even.

The housekeeper smiled wistfully to herself for a moment. Though she would never admit it, there was a keen observer within _her_ that reared its ugly head from time to time, an observer with a penchant for gossip. Having diffused the potentially scandalous situation, she was sorely tempted to scurry off in search of Frau Becker and tell her, in knowing whispers, of the unbelievable scene she'd discovered in the governess' bedroom this very night. The seamstress would be positively _speechless_, there was no doubt about it!

But no, she censured herself firmly, dismissing the idea almost as quickly as she'd considered it. The captain was a dear man, a _good_ man — and he was suffering through something that even _he_ didn't fully understand.

It was then that she made a sincere promise to herself, a promise she knew she would have no trouble keeping: she would not tell anyone of this, not a soul. No keen observers would _ever_ know of its occurrence.

Some secrets were simply too precious to betray.

* * *

**A/N: thank you for reading. As always, I'd love to know your thoughts**


End file.
